


i told the grave digger, but he ain't got the room

by volatile_hearts



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Groundhog Day, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatile_hearts/pseuds/volatile_hearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl finds Glenn dead on a Tuesday.</p>
<p>The second time he finds Glenn dead, it’s also a Tuesday. In fact, it’s the same Tuesday. </p>
<p>He wakes up with Glenn’s name on his lips, but swallows it down. He can’t afford to be crying out anyone’s name. It’s just another nightmare. Some nights the entire camp gets ambushed again, like a goddamn repeat performance, only in his dreams he’s only one left standing at the end of it. Some nights it’s him that’s dead, rotted hands pinning him down, pulling him apart as fetid teeth sink into his flesh. Tonight, Glenn died. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Companion piece to "tell the grave digger he better dig two" from Daryl's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i told the grave digger, but he ain't got the room

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [tell the grave digger he better dig two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/576072) by [Menacherie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menacherie/pseuds/Menacherie). 



> If you haven't read Menacherie's fic, you shoud definitely stop and go do that now. My fic doesn't make much sense without first reading hers.
> 
> Enjoy!

Daryl finds Glenn dead on a Tuesday.

The second time he finds Glenn dead, it’s also a Tuesday. In fact, it’s the same Tuesday.

He wakes up with Glenn’s name on his lips, but swallows it down. He can’t afford to be crying out anyone’s name. It’s just another nightmare. Some nights he can’t save Sophia or the Grimes kid, stuck listening to the screaming wails of their mothers or parents. Some nights the entire camp gets ambushed again, like a goddamn repeat performance, only in his dreams he’s only one left standing at the end of it. Some nights it’s him that’s dead, rotted hands pinning him down, pulling him apart as fetid teeth sink into his flesh. Tonight, Glenn died.

Just a nightmare, eerily realistic details aside. 

He shakes his head and more of the numb terror bleeds away. He grabs the crossbow laying by his side and quickly inspects it. Everything’s in order. It’s still early, still dark. He has time enough to check his snares, time enough to clear his head. The memory is already becoming hazy; slipping through his fingers like water the way dreams do. Only the image of Glenn’s lifeless face stays with him as he steps out of his tent in the faint pre-dawn light. 

\--

He nails a squirrel to a tree. A big grey one with a thick fluffy tail.

“Sucker’s been eatin’ better’n us,” he mutters, pulling the arrow from the tree and securing the squirrel with the others on the rope hanging around his chest. It’s not a bad haul, two of his five traps caught something. If nothing else, three squirrels will add to their dwindling food supply.

The sky is lighter. Daryl can now make out the muted browns and greens of the forest around him as the sun rises. He makes it back to camp just as the sun peeks over the treeline, just in time for his shift.

He’s only about ten minutes or so in his watch when Glenn comes bursting out of his tent, falling into the dirt as he trips on the opening. In seconds, he’s standing again, frantically scrabbling at his shoulder. After a moment, Glenn breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

“Nightmare?” Daryl calls out, voice still rough from sleep.

“Uh,” The kid starts and turns to look at him. His eyes dart from side to side, like he’s not quite sure he recognizes his surroundings. “I guess”

Daryl grunts in response. It’s none of his business. Still ... Daryl’s eyes track Glenn as he climbs back into his tent. 

\--

People are done with breakfast, either cleaning up the leftovers or moving on to other tasks, by the time Daryl’s watch is over. He hears Glenn clambering up the RV’s metal ladder before he sees him. By the time Glenn’s head pops up over the edge of the vehicle, he’d turn his head to lazily watch the kid climb the rest of the way.

“Hey!” Glenn says, “Thanks for not shooting me this morning.”

Glenn’s grinning this bright, big smile at him as Daryl stands from the plastic lawn chair. He steadfastly ignores the way his heart thumps extra hard at the sight and just leans the shotgun against the arm of the chair.

“You didn’t make that much noise Chinaman,” Daryl says to cover, and pushes past him towards the ladder. If he can get the kid angry, he won’t have to think about how much he wants to keep that smile all to himself. Won’t have to think about things he can’t have.

He pauses halfway down when he realizes Glenn didn’t try to correct him. Hell, he didn’t even scoff in annoyance. He stares at the kid for a few moments, wondering what the hell is up.

“Er,” Glenn says tentatively, “Thanks, still?”

Daryl nods slightly, “Right.”

He jumps off the last rung and hits the ground with a soft thump. Glenn’s acting a bit weird but maybe it’s just whatever nightmare spooked him in the night. But as the day wears on, Daryl keeps glancing back at Glenn, just to keep an eye on him.

\--

Turns out it’s not enough. A walker horde stumbles onto their makeshift camp. Daryl’s world narrows to sight, aim, shoot.

Sight, aim, shoot.

He runs out of arrows and picks up the nearest blunt object - bashing in walker brains left and right. When the dust settles, everybody is accounted for.

Except Glenn.

There’s a quick headcount as Daryl salvages what arrows he can, but when they come up one short, Daryl shouts, “Where’s Glenn?”

A faint groan behind him answers his question. 

Daryl whips around to find Glenn shuffling towards the group. His skin is pale and there is a steady drip of blood leaking from somewhere on his back. Maybe his shoulder. His eyes are clouded over. The attack couldn’t have lasted longer than ten minutes but already the deep brown in his eyes are gone.

Daryl raises his crossbow despite his horror.

Glenn’s attention focuses on the movement, quickening his shambling steps - his blackened mouth opened in a snarl. Daryl’s throat closes in, the memory of Glenn’s smile frozen in his mind.

He pulls the trigger.

\--

Daryl awakes with a gasp.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

“Just a dream,” Daryl wipes a hand over his face, mumbling into his fingers. “‘S just a dream.”

He can’t recall much of the dream anymore, just the weight of his crossbow in his arms and the hard metal as he pulled the trigger... and the arrow that found its home in Glenn’s skull.

He shakes his head and grabs the crossbow laying by his side, quickly inspecting it. Nothing needs a tune up. It’s still dark. He has a lot of time before his watch shift starts, might as well check his traps, see if he got lucky during the night. Quietly, he slips out of his tent and heads towards the woods. He pauses just as he reaches the treeline. He’s got time. Besides, no one else is awake yet, just Rick on watch duty.

He swings by Glenn’s tent and stills a moment outside. The kid’s still sleeping. Daryl can hear him gently breathing through the thin nylon fabric. Something in Daryl relaxes minutely, then he hears Glenn stir, rolling over in his sleeping bag. Daryl decides he’s loitered long enough and heads into the trees.

\--

Two of his traps prove fruitful, ensnaring two squirrels. He hits a third one as it’s crawling up a tree. A big grey one with a thick fluffy tail.

“Sucker’s been eatin’ better’n us.” Just at the words leave his mouth Daryl is struck with the strongest sense of deja vu.

“Huh,” he mutters as he attaches dead animal to the rope and heads back to camp. The sky is lighter now; almost time for his watch shift to start.

\--

Glenn doesn’t come to relieve Daryl for watch. He ends up sitting through a second shift. He doesn’t mind it all too much, plus something might be up if the kid didn’t even bother to crawl out of his tent for breakfast.

It’s not until it’s half way over that Rick notices Daryl covering for Glenn.

“Hey, Daryl,” Rick calls up from beside the RV, “Your shift was over a while ago. Where’s Glenn?”

“Dunno,” he shouts back, “Haven’t seen ‘im this morning.”

Rick frowns at that but heads off, asking the others if they’ve seen Glenn. Nobody’s seen him. Carol volunteers to go check on him. She comes back a few minutes later, says Glenn looks pretty ill. He’s not running a fever but still, best they all leave him alone.

Later, Daryl regrets that the only time he sees Glenn that day is when he finds him dead, skin still warm but eyes blank and lifeless.

\--

About ten minutes into his watch the next day, Glenn climbs up and joins Daryl on the top of the RV. Something is bugging Daryl about the three squirrels he caught before his shift, but he can’t put his finger on it. He’s been running around in circles in his head, so the kid is a welcome distraction.

Glenn sits down on the roof next to Daryl, inhaling deeply and letting it out in a shaky exhale. He’s unusually quiet - no small talk, no dumb jokes or awkward fumbling. Daryl waits another beat, not wanting to ruin the silence but slightly unnerved by it all the same.

“Alright Chinaman?” he asks.

Glenn just shakes his head.

“Nightmare,” he says, “Ever had one of those where you wake up screaming from a dream, but that’s just a dream and then you have an even worse dream than before?”

Daryls shakes his head.

“I just dream of dyin’,” he lies. No one needs to know he’s haunted by more deaths than his own or that the worse ones feature Glenn’s eyes cold and lifeless.

“I die in mine,” Glenn continues, “But then I have to relive the day and die again.”

Daryl wonders which is worse -- knowing you’re going to die and just waiting for it over and over again, or shooting your loved ones, watching them die over and over again. He reckons he doesn’t know.

“Promise me I won’t die today?” Glenn asks, a tenuous hope in his voice.

The question startles a laugh out of Daryl.

“You ain’t gonna die today Chinaman,” he agrees with a wry grin.

“I’m Korean,” Glenn responds weakly.

“Right,” Daryl says, grinning more. He kicks his feet out in front of him and settles into the more relaxed atmosphere. “You ain’t gonna die today Koreanman.”

Glenn snorts a laugh and shakes his head, before he stretches his arms out behind him to support his weight and the companionably wait out the rest of his shift.

Daryl can’t quite help the small glow of pleasure from that.

\--

When the dust settles this time, Daryl frantically searches for Glenn and finds him - skin grey, eyes a milky blue - shuffling slowly towards the group. Daryl feels his gut twist sharply, holding his insides hostage. He promised the goddamn kid that he wasn’t going to die. He promised.

_Shit_.

He can feel his emotions leaking all over his face as he raises his gun and fires.

\--

Daryl wakes up shaken.

Dixons aren’t exactly known for their promise-keeping, unless it’s promising a world of hurt. Figures the first time he ever does, he fails horribly even in a dream -- because that’s all this is. A dream 

He runs a hand over his face and hastily grabs his crossbow, heading out into the woods. His falters at the very edge of the trees, stuck on the urge to pass by Glenn’s tent just to check that he’s okay.

Guilt twists in his stomach.

He tells himself again it’s just a dream and walks beyond the trees without a backward glance.

\--

The woods don’t prove to be the solace that they usually are. Instead he misses that damn fluffy, grey squirrel too distracted by the intense deja vu - no, he knows that he’s seen that squirrel before and the two he caught in his traps. He frustrated and angry by the time Glenn joins him on his watch.

“Thanks,” Glenn says once he’s seated next to Daryl.

His bad mood evaporates some, caught off-guard by the statement and the strange solemnness of it.

“Fer what?” Daryl asks, staring at Glenn in confusion.

“For doing what you have to,” he answers cryptically.

“Yer welcome then,” Daryl says slowly, hoping the kid will expand on that, because he has no fucking clue what he’s talking about.

Glenn looks like he’s about to say something else, but isn’t forthcoming, just climbs back down the RV. Daryl watches him retreat back into his tent, wishing that the kid would open up to him, just this once.

But wishing never gets you anywhere.

\--

The next time he sees Glenn, Daryl’s got the barrel of a shotgun aimed at his head. He hesitates. Did the kid know this was going to happen? Did he know Daryl was going to blow his walker brains out? Just - how?

Now, Daryl wishes he had more time, wishes he didn’t have pull the trigger.

He does anyways. It nearly wrecks him.

\--

Daryl spends the next Tuesday edgy and tense. He recounts how many times he’s found Glenn dead - alone in his tent a few times, by his hand mostly whether an arrow in the forehead or a shotgun to the face - ten times total. Daryl still can’t remember the rest of the dreams leading up to Glenn’s death and it’s driving him mad - he’s wondering if it’s even a dream anymore at this point, or if it’s something else entirely.

He knew which of snares had squirrels in them. It wasn’t a dream or some premonition bullshit. He waited for that third squirrel bastard to show up on the tree today, because it’s happened before.

Now, he’s waiting for Glenn to come join him on his watch. He expects but he’s not sure why, the kid’s never done it before but...  

Glenn nevers shows.

It doesn’t sit right for some unnameable reason.

Daryl’s grumpy and withdrawn at the campfire that night. Barely engaging in conversation past grunts or monosyllabic replies. He watches the kid the whole time, though. Glenn just as withdrawn if not more so than him. Daryl almost wants to ask what’s on his mind. In the end, his black mood triumphs over his fledgling concern.

Glenn dies alone from the bite that night.

\--

After Daryl has caught three squirrels - the same damn squirrels - he’s sitting on top of the RV, mulling over the emotional havoc these not-dreams are causing him. It’s like someone cracked all of his walls and now he’s leaking out of them, helpless to stop the flow he’s worked so hard to hide.

He’s sick of it. If he finds Glenn dead or as walker one more time, he’s going to blow his own brains out; just to end this goddamn cycle.

“You okay?” Glenn asks as he climbs up the ladder.

Daryl’s a bit spooked when Glenn asks him that - since he was dwelling on just how not okay he is a moment ago. He nods instead.

“Yeah,” he says cautiously, eyeing Glenn as he sits down beside him, “No walkers in sight, went hunting this morning, caught a few squirrels.”

Glenn nods, insistent, “But you’re okay, right?”

“Are you tryin’ ta talk about feelings?” Daryl bristles automatically, an old reaction, “ ‘Cause you need to go talk to Dale for that.”

“No, I just - Nevermind.” Glenn shakes his heads, pushing himself up and starting for the stairs.

“Have a nasty case of deja vu though,” Daryl blurts out before Glenn can get too far, trying to call him back, “if that’s what yer tryin’ to ask.”

Glenn freezes, then turns back to face him. Daryl can’t believe he told him that, can’t believe he even opened his mouth. But… something shaky and loose in him can’t bear to let Glenn go. He looks towards the horizon and ignores the strange look on the kid’s face.

“Yeah?” Glenn croaks out.

“Yeah,” Daryl says. He fidgets in his seat and adjusts the grip on the shotgun before admitting, “Sorta like a dream.”

“Right,” Glenn says, “What sort of dreams?”

“I dreamed I killed you,” he tells the kid, and damn if that doesn’t sound like a confession. Whispered and broken. He opens his mouth to continue but Glenn beats him to it.

“Because a walker got to me?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says stunned. He’s suddenly reminded of Glenn thanking him for doing what’s necessary and his mind flashes to the moment when he had to put the kid down like some kind of animal. He remembers wondering how the kid fucking knew it was coming. He remembers making a promise, and the way he failed so miserably to keep it.

The silence grows thick around them.

“Ain’t gonna happen though, you ain’t gonna die today,” Daryl finally says, “Promise.”

Glenn’s answering smile is fragile like splintered glass.

“Thanks,” he says and starts to climb down the ladder. Daryl feels the RV shift when Glenn reaches the bottom, but he’s too preoccupied preparing to keep that promise to hear the soft thunk as Glenn sets his head against the vehicle or the shuddering sigh that follows.

\--

Daryl grows more and more agitated as the sun sets and dark sets in. By the time dinner has been cooked, served, and eaten, everyone sitting around the fire, been sitting for a few hours, but Daryl is pacing beside the flames. He knows it’s coming, the walker attack, he’s ready for it. Glenn will be fine.

His eyes flick to Glenn. He paces a few more steps and his eyes glance back again.

He can’t shake the feeling the kid is humoring him. There’s a feeling of weary acceptance hanging about him and Daryl. Doesn’t. Like it.

Eventually Rick has to stop him, resting a hand on his shoulder and telling him in low tones that’s he’s getting everybody worried over nothing. Daryl glares until Rick retreats, but reluctantly slumps down on the log next to Glenn. He’s twitching at every snap of a twig and jumping every time the leaves rustle in the trees. His body feels tense, wound so tight he’s about to snap clean in half.

But it’s all useless.

Glenn takes off at the first sign of trouble, throwing himself between a walker and Sophia, tucking the small girl into his body. Daryl showers the two of them in a spray of geek remains, taking out the bastard on Glenn. He can hear the rest of the group finishing off the last of the walkers as he runs towards Glenn and the girl.

A strangled noise escapes his mouth when he sees the bite on Glenn’s shoulder. The rest of the group gathers around. Andrea gasps.

Glenn has the nerve to smile at Daryl. The goddamn nerve to show that bright, sunny grin and say, “I don’t mind.” He jerks his head by the the trees. “Just not in front of everyone.”

His eyes dart to Sophia clutched in her mother’s arms beside him. Daryl knows he means just not in front of the kids. Rick steps forward to take responsibility, but Glenn just shakes his head.

“Daryl can do it,” he says. Just goddamn volunteers Daryl like it’s nothing. Like he knows Daryl couldn’t stand letting somebody else doing it.

Daryl follow him numbly into the woods, helpless to do much else.

“No time to talk about feelings,” Glenn teases weakly, “I have to die before midnight.”

It snaps Daryl out of his daze, but leaves him desperately grasping for something - anything… anything but this. He grabs Glenn wrist, searching those sweet brown eyes.

“You ain’t no Cinderella,” he says, voice wavering.

“God, you joke. I wish I’d known that,” Glenn says, eyes clenched as his body starts to shiver.

“What’s going on,” Daryl demands, “Tell me!”

“I think - I think I’m supposed to fall in love with you,” Glenn laughs. His laugh is tinged with hysteria, but ends in a rasping cough. Once he catches his breath some, he wheezes, “Falling in love during the apocalypse, that’s a laugh.”

Daryl lets his gun slip to hang by his side, a cold dead weight in his hand, and moves to hold Glenn’s face. He needs to see his eyes - needs to know he’s telling the truth. Glenn coughs again, more violently this time and blood drips from the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

“Please shoot me, it’s faster,” Glenn pleads.

“I,” Daryl starts but the words get stuck in his throat, the words he couldn’t even let himself want, much less hope for, just came tumbling out of the kid’s lips. And it was with what might as well be his dying breath. Anger, joy, regret, and loss all war within him to be heard, but the best he can do is, “Why me?”

“Because you do the things that the other’s won’t. Because I can always depend on you like some universal constant,” Glenn says, resting his forehead against Daryl’s, letting his eyes slip shut once again, “Because I can’t think of anyone better to share my last moments with.”

Daryl inhales roughly, then steps back. Glenn looks him dead in the eye as Daryl raises the gun, both hands gripped tight around it. His body is shaking now, deep muscles spasms that wrack his entire frame. Daryl’s not faring much better, adrenaline and fear and pre-emptive loss causing his hands to tremor.

He fires.

\--

Daryl wakes up screaming, his face wet and salty.

The cracks are blown wide open, there’s nothing left to hold him together.

It’s Tuesday morning.

\--

Daryl doesn’t bother with the squirrels this morning. They can rot in their traps for all he cares. It’s not like they won’t be there tomorrow. He starts his shift early, glaring as the sun rises, washing the sky in deep bloody red. Whatever hell he’s trapped in, Daryl knows everybody has their breaking point.

He just didn’t know Glenn would be his.

Someone’s climbing up the RV’s ladder. Daryl barely spares it a thought except to glance in that direction. He stops when he sees that it’s Glenn. Powerless to do anything but watch as Glenn hauls himself up over the edge and walks over to him. He knows he looks wrecked watching Glenn -- watching him breathe and move, seeing him alive -- but he just can’t bring himself to care.

“Nightmares?” Glenn says casually as he sits down next to Daryl.

“Yeah,” he croaks out and Glenn nods.

“I think I know how to stop them,” Glenn tells him, leaning back on his arms to look at the sky. The red is slowing giving way to the other colors, yellow and pale blue and grey.

Daryl snorts. Like any two people could stop Hell if the devil really put his mind to it.

“They’re nightmares Chinaman,” he says gruffly.

“You were right when you said I don’t make a good Cinderella.”

Daryl freezes. His entire body runs cold, sudden terror replacing his blood with ice. No, just -- no. Glenn couldn't have died all those times. He just couldn’t. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t --

Daryl slowly turns to look at Glenn. And the bastard smiles at him. The same heart stopping smile filled with so much warmth. He pushes himself up and stands in front of him. But Daryl couldn’t make himself move from the rickety old plastic chair he’s sitting in if he tried.

And suddenly it’s real.

Everything is absolutely, so unbearably real.

But Daryl can deal with real. He knows how to face reality, especially when it’s about to hit the fan. Glenn is not gonna die tonight. “One of us should switch shifts with Dale and the walker problem’s gone.”

“As for the continuous Tuesday dreams,” Glenn says leaning forward and resting his hands on the chair’s arms. “Well,” he pauses and licks his lips, “well.”

He ducks forwards and places a chaste kiss on Daryl’s lips.

Daryl’s eyes widen. Somehow Glenn dying over and over again is easier to accept than this. The soft press of Glenn’s lips leaves him motionless.

Glenn starts to pull away, hesitation stealing over him. Daryl starts to panic.

“I can’t shoot you again,” he blurts out, one hand grabs Glenn’s shirt to pull him closer, and the other reaches up to his head, “I can’t.” Daryl brushes his thumb gently over Glenn’s forehead, right where his arrow found it’s home so many times before, where a bullet hit it’s mark each time. He leans up to press a kiss to the spot. A promise, an apology.

“Okay,” Glenn says as he crawls onto Daryl’s lap, “Okay, you won’t.”

Daryl wraps his arms around Glenn, holding him closer until all his weight is resting against him, solid and reassuring.

“We’ll be safe,” Glenn tells him. There’s a creak. Then the chair collapses beneath them.

Daryl blinks and Glenn starts laughing hysterically. Dale and Carol come running out of the RV to see what caused the noise. Daryl buries his face in Glenn’s neck who yells out “We’re fine!” in between laughs. Daryl would be mortified but he’s smiling against Glenn’s skin 

\--

It’s eleven thirty and they are standing atop the RV. In between scanning the area and checking his gun, Daryl will pull Glenn towards him and kiss him. Just because he can, just because he might not able tomorrow. It doesn’t negate the heavy tension that keeps their eyes peeled on the horizon, but it does help bear the load.

At eleven forty-five, the walkers come into sight, but Daryl and Glenn sound the alarm. The camp mobilizes. In minutes, the walker problem is neutralized and everyone’s safe.

Just before midnight, Daryl grabs Glenn and kisses him in sheer euphoria. They climb down the RV and Daryl drags Glenn back to his tent, ignoring all the stares as they make their way through camp. He unzips the flap and they tumble inside, Glenn landing somewhere on top of him. He twists and readjusts their positions, cradling Glenn in his arms. Glenn just slides closer, gripping Daryl more and burying his head into his collar.

“Tomorrow will be Wednesday,” Glenn says, breathing against his skin.

“Tomorrow will be Wednesday,” Daryl repeats in dazed relief. Daryl kisses the top of Glenn’s head and squeezes him tighter as they wait for tomorrow to come.


End file.
